Kennedy Square by F. Hopkinson Smith

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or a schottische--and she has. Miss Kate dances this reel with me."There was a flash in his eye as he spoke, but he was still the host.

"And I suppose you will want the one after supper too," snapped Willits.He had edged closer and was now speaking to Harry's bent back.

"Why, certainly, if Miss Kate is willing and wishes it," rejoined Harrysimply, still too intent on having the ice reach his sweetheart at theearliest possible moment to notice either Willits's condition or histone of voice.

Willits sprang forward just as Harry regained his erect position. "Noyou won't, sir!" he cried angrily. "I've got some rights here and I'mgoing to protect them. I'll ask Miss Kate myself and find out whether Iam to be made a fool of like this," and before St. George could preventstarted for the door.

Harry dropped the plate on the table and blocked the enraged man's exitwith his outstretched arm. He was awake now--wide awake--and to thecause.

"You'll do nothing of the kind, Langdon--not in your present state. Pullyourself together, man! Miss Seymour is not accustomed to be spoken ofin that way and you know it. Now don't be foolish--stay here with UncleGeorge and the doctor until you cool down. There are the best of reasonswhy I should dance the reel with Miss Kate, but I can't explain themnow."

"Neither am I, Mr. Harry Rutter, accustomed to be spoken to in that wayby you or anybody else. I don't care a rap for your explanations. Getout of my way, or you'll be sorry," and he sprang one side and flunghimself out of the room before Harry could realize the full meaning ofhis words.

St. George saw the flash in the boy's eyes, and stretching out his handlaid it on Harry's arm.

"Steady, my boy! Let him go--Kate will take care of him."

"No! I'll take care of him!--and now!" He was out of the room and thedoor shut behind him before Temple could frame a reply.

St. George shot an anxious, inquiring look at Teackle, who nodded hishead in assent, and the two hurried from the room and across the expanseof white crash, Willits striding ahead, Harry at his heels, St. Georgeand the doctor following close behind.

Kate stood near the far door, her radiant eyes fixed on Harry'sapproaching figure--the others she did not see. Willits reached herfirst:

Kate started and for a moment her face flushed. If she had forgotten anypromise she had made it certainly was not intentional. Then her mindacted. There must be no bad blood here--certainly not between Harry andWillits.

"No, not quite that, Mr. Willits," she answered in her sweetest voice, acertain roguish coquetry in its tones. "I said I'd think it over, andyou never came near me, and so Harry and I are--"

"But you DID promise me." His voice could be heard all over theroom--even the colonel, who was talking to a group of ladies, raised hishead to listen, his companions thinking the commotion was due to theproper arranging of the dance.

Harry's eyes flashed; angry blood was mounting to his cheeks. He wasamazed at Willits's outburst.

"You mean to contradict Miss Kate! Are you crazy, Willits?"

"No, I am entirely sane," he retorted, an ugly ring in his voice.

Everybody had ceased talking now. Good-natured disputes over the younggirls were not uncommon among the young men, but this one seemed to havean ominous sound. Colonel Rutter evidently thought so, for he had nowrisen from his seat and was crossing the room to where Harry and thegroup stood.

"Well, you neither act nor talk as if you were sane, rejoined Harry incold, incisive tones, inching his way nearer Kate, as if to be thebetter prepared to defend her.

Willits's lip curled. "I am not beholden to you, sir, for my conduct,although I can be later on for my words. Let me see your dancing-card,Miss Kate," and he caught it from her unresisting hand. "There--whatdid I tell you!" This came with a flare of indignation. "It was a blankwhen I saw it last and you've filled it in, sir, of your own accord!"Here he faced Harry. "That's your handwriting--I'll leave it to you, Mr.Temple, if it isn't his handwriting."

Harry flushed scarlet and his eyes blazed as he stepped toward thespeaker. Kate shrank back in alarm--she had read Harry's face and knewwhat was behind it.

"Take that back, Langdon--quick! You are my guest, but you mustn't saythings like that here. I put my name on the card because Miss Kate askedme to. Take it back, sir--NOW!--and then make an humble apology to MissSeymour.

"I'll take back nothing! I've been cheated out of a dance. Here--takeher--and take this with her!" and he tore Kate's card in half and threwthe pieces in his host's face.

With the spring of a cat, Harry lunged forward and raised his arm as ifto strike Willits in the face: Willits drew himself up to his fullheight and confronted him: Kate shrivelled within herself, all the colorgone from her cheeks. Whether to call out for help or withdraw quietly,was what puzzled her. Both would concentrate the attention of the wholeroom on the dispute.

St. George, who was boiling with indignation and disgust, but still cooland himself, pushed his way into the middle of the group.

"Not a word, Harry," he whispered in low, frigid tones. "This can besettled in another way." Then in his kindest voice, so loud that allcould hear--"Teackle, will you and Mr. Willits please meet me in thecolonel's den--that, perhaps, is the best place after all to straightenout these tangles. I'll join you there as soon as I have Miss Katesafely settled." He bent over her: "Kate, dear, perhaps you had bettersit alongside of Mrs. Rutter until I can get these young fellows cooledoff"--and in a still lower key--"you behaved admirably, mygirl--admirably. I'm proud of you. Mr. Willits has had too much todrink--that is what is the matter with him, but it will be all over in aminute--and, Harry, my boy, suppose you help me look up Teackle," and helaid his hand with an authoritative pressure on the boy's arm.

The colonel had by this time reached the group and stood trying to catchthe cue. He had heard the closing sentence of St. George's instructions,but he had missed the provocation, although he had seen Harry's upliftedfist.

"What's the matter, St. George?" he inquired nervously.

"Just a little misunderstanding, Talbot, as to who was to dance with ourprecious Kate," St. George answered with a laugh, as he gripped Harry'sarm the tighter. "She is such a darling that it is as much as I can doto keep these young Romeos from running each other through the body,they are so madly in love with her. I am thinking of making off with hermyself as the only way to keep the peace. Yes, you dear girl, I'll comeback. Hold the music up for a little while, Talbot, until I canstraighten them all out," and with his arm still tight through Harry's,the two walked the length of the room and closed the far door behindthem.

Kate looked after them and her heart sank all the lower. She knew thefeeling between the two men, and she knew Harry's hot, ungovernabletemper--the temper of the Rutters. Patient as he often was, andtender-hearted as he could be, there flashed into his eyes now and thensomething that frightened her--something that recalled an incident inthe history of his house. He had learned from his gentle mother toforgive affronts to himself; she had seen him do it many times,overlooking what another man would have resented, but an affront toherself or any other woman was a different matter: that he would neverforgive. She knew, too, that he had just cause to be offended, for inall her life no one had ever been so rude to her. That she herself waspartly to blame only intensified her anxiety. Willits loved her, for hehad told her so, not once, but several times, although she had answeredhim only with laughter. She should have been honest and not played thecoquette: and yet, although the fault was partly her own, never had shebeen more astonished than at his outburst. In all her acquaintance withhim he had never lost his temper. Harry, of course, would lay it toWillits's lack of breeding--to the taint in his blood. But she knewbetter--it was the insanity produced by drink, combined with hisjealousy of Harry, which had caused the gross outrage. If she had onlytold Willits herself of her betrothal and not waited to surprise himbefore the assembled guests, it would have been fairer and spared everyone this scene.

All these thoughts coursed through her mind as with head still proudlyerect she crossed the room on the colonel's arm, to a seat beside herfuture mother-in-law, who had noticed nothing, and to whom not asyllable of the affair would have been mentioned, all such matters beinginvariably concealed from the dear lady.

Old Mrs. Cheston, however, was more alert; not only had she caught theanger in Harry's eyes, but she had followed the flight of the torn cardas its pieces fell to the floor. She had once been present at areception given by a prime minister when a similar fracas had occurred.Then it was a lady's glove and not a dancing-card which was thrown in arival's face, and it was a rapier that flashed and not a clenched fist.

"What was the matter over there, Talbot?" she demanded, speaking frombehind her fan when the colonel came within hearing.

"Nothing! Some little disagreement about who should lead the Virginiareel with Kate. I have stopped the music until they fix it up."

"Don't talk nonsense, Talbot Rutter, not to me. There was bad blood overthere--you better look after them. There'll be trouble if you don't."

The colonel tucked the edge of a rebellious ruffle inside hisembroidered waistcoat and with a quiet laugh said: "St. George isattending to them."

"St. George is as big a fool as you are about such things. Go, I tellyou, and see what they are doing in there with the door shut."

"But, my dear Mrs. Cheston," echoed her host with a deprecating wave ofhis hand--"my Harry would no more attack a man under his own roof thanyou would cut off your right hand. He's not born that way--none of usare."

"You talk like a perfect idiot, Talbot!" she retorted angrily. "You seemto have forgotten everything you knew. These young fellows here are somany tinder boxes. There will be trouble I tell you--go out there andfind out what is going on," she reiterated, her voice increasing inintensity. "They've had time enough to fix up a dozen Virginiareels--and besides, Kate is waiting, and they know it. Look! there'ssome one coming out--it's that young Teackle. Call him over here andfind out!"

The doctor, who had halted at the door, was now scrutinizing the facesof the guests as if in search of some one. Then he moved swiftly to thefar side of the room, touched Mark Gilbert, Harry's most intimatefriend, on the shoulder, and the two left the floor.

Kate sat silent, a fixed smile on her face that ill concealed heranxiety. She had heard every word of the talk between Mrs. Cheston andthe colonel, but she did not share the old lady's alarm as to any actualconflict. She would trust Uncle George to avoid that. But what keptHarry? Why leave her thus abruptly and send no word back? In her dilemmashe leaned forward and touched the colonel's arm.

"You don't think anything is the matter, dear colonel, do you?"

"With whom, Kate?"

"Between Harry and Mr. Willits. Harry might resent it--he was veryangry." Her lips were quivering, her eyes strained. She could hide heranxiety from her immediate companions, but the colonel was Harry'sfather.

The colonel turned quickly: "Resent it here! under his own roof, and theman his guest? That is one thing, my dear, a Rutter never violates, nomatter what the provocation. I have made a special exception in Mr.Willits's favor to-night and Harry knows it. It was at your dearfather's request that I invited the young fellow. And then again, I hearthe most delightful things about his own father, who though a plain manis of great service to his county--one of Mr. Clay's warmest adherents.All this, you see, makes it all the more incumbent that both my son andmyself should treat him with the utmost consideration, and, as I havesaid, Harry understands this perfectly. You don't know my boy; I woulddisown him, Kate, if he laid a hand on Mr. Willits--and so should you."

CHAPTER V

When Dr. Teackle shut the door of the ballroom upon himself and MarkGilbert the two did not tarry long in the colonel's den, which was stilloccupied by half a dozen of the older men, who were being beguiled by arelay of hot terrapin that Alec had just served. On the contrary, theycontinued on past the serving tables, past old Cobden Dorsey, who wassteeped to the eyes in Santa Cruz rum punch; past John Purviance, andGatchell and Murdoch, smacking their lips over the colonel's Madeira,dived through a door leading first to a dark passage, mounted to a shortflight of steps leading to another dark passage, and so on through asecond door until they reached a small room level with the ground. Thiswas the colonel's business office, where he conducted the affairs of theestate--a room remote from the great house and never entered except onthe colonel's special invitation and only then when business ofimportance necessitated its use.

That business of the very highest importance--not in any way connectedwith the colonel, though of the very gravest moment--was being enactedhere to-night, could be seen the instant Teackle, with Gilbert at hisheels, threw open the door. St. George and Harry were in onecorner--Harry backed against the wall. The boy was pale, but perfectlycalm and silent. On his face was the look of a man who had a duty toperform and who intended to go through with it come what might. On theopposite side of the room stood Willits with two young men, his mostintimate friends. They had followed him out of the ballroom to learn thecause of his sudden outburst, and so far had only heard Willits's sideof the affair. He was now perfectly sober and seemed to feel hisposition, but he showed no fear. On the desk lay a mahogany casecontaining the colonel's duelling pistols. Harry had taken them from hisfather's closet as he passed through the colonel's den.

St. George turned to the young doctor. His face was calm and thoughtful,and he seemed to realize fully the gravity of the situation.

"It's no use, Teackle," St. George said with an expressive lift of hisfingers. "I have done everything a man could, but there is only one wayout of it. I have tried my best to save Kate from every unhappinessto-night, but this is something much more important than woman's tears,and that is her lover's honor."

"You mean to tell me, Uncle George, that you can't stop this!" Teacklewhispered with some heat, his eyes strained, his lips twitching. Here hefaced Harry. "You sha'n't go on with this affair, I tell you, Harry.What will Kate say? Do you think she wants you murdered for a foolishthing like this!--and that's about what will happen."

The boy made no reply, except to shake his head. He knew what Kate wouldsay--knew what she would do, and knew what she would command him to do,could she have heard Willits's continued insults in this very room but amoment before while St. George was trying to make him apologize to hishost and so end the disgraceful incident.

"Then I'll go and bring in the colonel and see what he can do!" burstout Teackle, starting for the door. "It's an outrage that--"

"You'll stay here, Teackle," commanded St. George--"right where youstand! This is no place for a father. Harry is of age."

"But what an ending to a night like this!"

"I know it--horrible!--frightful!--but I would rather see the boy lyingdead at my feet than not defend the woman he loves." This came in adecisive tone, as if he had long since made up his mind to this phase ofthe situation.

"But Langdon is Harry's guest," Teackle pleaded, dropping his voicestill lower to escape being heard by the group at the opposite end ofthe room--"and he is still under his roof. It is never done--it isagainst the code. Besides"--and his voice became a whisper--"Harry neverlevelled a pistol at a man in his life, and this is not Langdon's firstmeeting. We can fix it in the morning. I tell you we must fix it."

Harry, who had been listening quietly, reached across the table, pickedup the case of pistols, handed it to Gilbert, whom he had chosen as hissecond, and in a calm, clear, staccato tone--each word a bullet rammedhome--said:

"No--Teackle, there will be no delay until to-morrow. Mr. Willits hasforfeited every claim to being my guest and I will fight him here andnow. I could never look Kate in the face, nor would she ever speak to meagain, if I took any other course. You forget that he virtually toldKate she lied," and he gazed steadily at Willits as if waiting for theeffect of his shot.

St. George's eyes kindled. There was the ring of a man in the boy'swords. He had seen the same look on the elder Rutter's face in a similarsituation twenty years before. As a last resort he walked toward whereWillits stood conferring with his second.

"I ask you once more, Mr. Willits"--he spoke in his most courteous tones(Willits's pluck had greatly raised him in his estimation)--"toapologize like a man and a gentleman. There is no question in my mindthat you have insulted your host in his own house and been discourteousto the woman he expects to marry, and that the amende honorable shouldcome from you. I am twice your age and have had many experiences of thiskind, and I would neither ask you to do a dishonorable thing nor would Ipermit you to do it if I could prevent it. Make a square, manly apologyto Harry."

Willits gazed at him with a certain ill-concealed contempt on his face.He was at the time loosening the white silk scarf about his throat inpreparation for the expected encounter. He evidently did not believe aword of that part of the statement which referred to Harry's engagement.If Kate had been engaged to Harry she would have told him so.

"You are only wasting your time, Mr. Temple," he answered with animpatient lift of his chin as he stripped his coat from his broadshoulders. "You have just said there is only one way to settle this--Iam ready--so are my friends. You will please meet me outside--there isplenty of firelight under the trees, and the sooner we get through thisthe better. The apology should not come from me, and will not. Come,gentlemen," and he stepped out into the now drizzling night, the glareof the torches falling on his determined face and white shirt as hestrode down the path followed by his seconds.

Seven gentlemen hurriedly gathered together, one a doctor and another infull possession of a mahogany case containing two duelling pistols withtheir accompanying ammunition, G. D. gun caps, powder-horn, swabs andrammers, and it past eleven o'clock at night, would have excited butlittle interest to the average darky--especially one unaccustomed to theportents and outcomes of such proceedings.

Not so Alec, who had absorbed the situation at a glance. He hadaccompanied his master on two such occasions--one at Bladensburg and theother on a neighboring estate, when the same suggestive tokens had beenvisible, except that those fights took place at daybreak, and afterevery requirement of the code had been complied with, instead of underthe flare of smoking pine torches and within a step of the contestant'sfront door. He had, besides, a most intimate knowledge of the contentsof the mahogany case, it being part of his duty to see that thesedefenders of the honor of all the Rutters--and they had been in frequentuse--were kept constantly oiled and cleaned. He had even cast somebullets the month before under the colonel's direction. That he waspresent to-night was entirely due to the fact that having made a shortcut to the kitchen door in order to hurry some dishes, he had by themerest chance, and at the precise psychological moment, run bump upagainst the warlike party just before they had reached the duellingground. This was a well-lighted path but a stone's throw from the porch,and sufficiently hidden by shrubbery to be out of sight of the ballroomwindows.

The next moment the old man was in full cry to the house. He had heardthe beginning of the trouble while he was carrying out St. George'sorders regarding the two half-emptied bowls of punch and understoodexactly what was going to happen, and why.

"Got de colonel's pistols!" he choked as he sped along the gravel walktoward the front door the quicker to reach the ballroom--"and MarseHarry nothin' but a baby! Gor-a-Mighty! Gor-a-Mighty!" Had they all beengrown-ups he might not have minded--but his "Marse Harry," the child hebrought up, his idol--his chum!--"Fo' Gawd, dey sha'n't kill 'im--deysha'n't!--DEY SHA'N'T!!"

He had reached the porch now, swung back the door, and with a suddenspring--it was wonderful how quick he moved--had dashed into theballroom, now a maze of whirling figures--a polka having struck up tokeep everybody occupied until the reel was finally made up.

Few heard him and nobody paid any attention to his entreaties; nor couldanybody, when they did listen, understand what he wanted--the menswearing under their breath, the girls indignant that he had blockedtheir way. Mrs. Rutter, who had seen his in-rush, sat aghast. Had Alec,too, given way, she wondered--old Alec who had had full charge of thewine cellar for years! But the old man pressed on, still shouting, hisvoice almost gone, his eyes bursting from his head.

"Out by de greenhouse--dey was measurin' off de groun'--dey's got decolonel's pistols--you kin see 'em from de winder!"

In an instant she had parted the heavy silk curtains and lifted thesash. She would have thrown herself from it if Mrs. Cheston had not heldher, although it was but a few feet from the ground.

"Harry!" she shrieked--an agonizing shriek that reverberated through theballroom, bringing everybody and everything to a stand-still. Thedancers looked at each other in astonishment. What had happened? Who hadfainted?

The colonel now passed through the room. He had been looking after theproper handling of the famous Madeira, and had just heard that Alecwanted him, and was uncertain as to the cause of the disturbance. Awoman's scream had reached his ears, but he did not know it was Kate'sor he would have quickened his steps.

Again Kate's voice pierced the room:

"Harry! HARRY!"--this time in helpless agony. She had peered into thedarkness made denser by the light rain, and had caught a glimpse of aman standing erect without his coat, the light of the torches bringinghis figure into high relief--whose she could not tell, the bushes wereso thick.

"Just what I told you. Those fools are out there trying to murder eachother!"

Two shots in rapid succession rang clear on the night air.

The colonel stood perfectly still. No need to tell him now what hadhappened, and worse yet, no need to tell him what WOULD happen if heshowed the slightest agitation. He was a cool man, accustomed tocritical situations, and one who never lost his head in an emergency.Only a few years before he had stopped a runaway hunter, with a girlclinging to a stirrup, by springing straight at the horse's head andbringing them both to the ground unhurt. It only required the sameinstantaneous concentration of all his forces, he said to himself, as hegazed into old Alec's terror-stricken face framed by the open window.Once let the truth be known and the house would be in a panic--womenfainting, men rushing out, taking sides with the combatants, withperhaps other duels to follow--Mrs. Rutter frantic, the ball suddenlybroken up, and this, too, near midnight, with most of his guests tenmiles and more from home.

Murmurs of alarm were already reaching his ears: What was it?--who hadfainted?--did the scream come from inside or outside the room?--what wasthe firing about?

He turned to allay Kate's anxiety, but she had cleared the open windowat a bound and was already speeding toward where she had seen the lighton the man's shirt. For an instant he peered after her into thedarkness, and then, his mind made up, closed the sash with a quickmovement, flung together the silk curtains and raised his hand tocommand attention.

"Keep on with the dance, my friends; I'll go and find out what hashappened--but it's nothing that need worry anybody--only a little burntpowder. Alec, go and tell Mr. Grant, the overseer, to keep better orderoutside. In the meantime let everybody get ready for the Virginia reel;supper will be served in a few minutes. Will you young gentlemen pleasechoose your partners, and will some one of you kindly ask the music tostart up?"

Slowly, and quite as if he had been called to the front door to welcomesome belated guest, he walked the length of the room preceded by Alec,who, agonized at his master's measured delay, had forged ahead to openthe door. This closed and they out of sight, the two hurried down thepath.

Willits lay flat on the ground, one arm stretched above his head. He hadmeasured his full length, the weight of his shoulder breaking someflower-pots as he fell. Over his right eye gaped an ugly wound fromwhich oozed a stream of blood that stained his cheek and throat. Dr.Teackle, on one knee, was searching the patient's heart, while Kate, herpretty frock soiled with mud, her hair dishevelled, sat crouched in thedirt rubbing his hands--sobbing bitterly--crying out whenever Harry, whowas kneeling beside her, tried to soothe her:--"No!--No!--My heart'sbroken--don't speak to me--go away!"

The colonel, towering above them, looked the scene over, then heconfronted Harry, who had straightened to his feet on seeing his father.

"A pretty piece of work--and on a night like this! A damnable piece ofwork, I should say, sir! ... Has he killed him, Teackle?"

The young doctor shook his head ominously.

"I cannot tell yet--his heart is still beating."

St. George now joined the group. He and Gilbert and the other secondshad, in order to maintain secrecy, been rounding up the few negroes whohad seen the encounter, or who had been attracted to the spot by thefiring.

"Harry had my full consent, Talbot--there was really nothing else to do.Only an ounce of cold lead will do in some cases, and this was one ofthem." He was grave and deliberate in manner, but there was an infinitesadness in his voice.

"He did--did he?" retorted the colonel bitterly. "YOUR full consent!YOURS! and I in the next room!" Here he beckoned to one of the negroeswho, with staring eyeballs, stood gazing from one to the other. "Comecloser, Eph--not a whisper, remember, or I'll cut the hide off your backin strips. Tell the others what I say--if a word of this gets into thebig house or around the cabins I'll know who to punish. Now two or threeof you go into the greenhouse, pick up one of those wide planks, andlift this gentleman onto it so we can carry him. Take him into myoffice, doctor, and lay him on my lounge. He'd better die there thanhere. Come, Kate--do you go with me. Not a syllable of this, remember,Kate, to Mrs. Rutter, or anybody else. As for you, sir"--and he lookedHarry squarely in the face--"you will hear from me later on."

With the same calm determination, he entered the ballroom, walked to thegroup forming the reel, and, with a set smile on this face indicatinghow idle had been everybody's fears, said loud enough to be heard byevery one about him:

"Only one of the men, my dear young people, who has been hurt in the toocareless use of some firearms. As to dear Kate--she has been soupset--she happened unfortunately to see the affair from thewindow--that she has gone to her room and so you must excuse her for alittle while. Now everybody keep on with the dance."

With his wife he was even more at ease. "The same old root of all evil,my dear," he said with a dry laugh--"too much peach brandy, and thistime down the wrong throats--and so in their joy they must celebrate byfiring off pistols and wasting my good ammunition," an explanation whichcompletely satisfied the dear lady--peach brandy being capable ofproducing any calamity, great or small.

But this would not do for Mrs. Cheston. She was a woman who could betrusted and who never, on any occasion, lost her nerve. He saw from theway she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry, instead of framing her questionin words, that she fully realized the gravity of the situation. Thecolonel looked at her significantly, made excuse to step in front ofher, his back to the room, and with his forefinger tapping his forehead,whispered:

"Willits."

The old lady paled, but she did not change her expression.

"And Harry?" she murmured in return.

The colonel kept his eyes upon her, but he made no answer. A hard, coldlook settled on his face--one she knew--one his negroes feared when hegrew angry.

Again she repeated Harry's name, this time in alarm:

"Quick!--tell me--not killed?"

"No--I wish to God he were!"

CHAPTER VI

The wounded man lay on a lounge in the office room, which was dimlylighted by the dying glow of the outside torches and an oil lamphurriedly brought in. No one was present except St. George, Harry, thedoctor, and a negro woman who had brought in some pillows and hot water.All that could be done for him had been done; he was unconscious and hislife hung by a thread. Harry, now that the mysterious thing called his"honor" had been satisfied, was helping Teackle wash the wound prior toan attempt to probe for the ball.

The boy was crying quietly--the tears streaming unbidden down hischeeks--it was his first experience at this sort of thing. He had beenbrought up to know that some day it might come and that he must thenface it, but he had never before realized the horror of what mightfollow. And yet he had not reached the stage of regret; he was sorry forthe wounded man and for his suffering, but he was not sorry for his ownshare in causing it. He had only done his duty, and but for a stroke ofgood luck he and Willits might have exchanged places. Uncle George hadexpressed his feelings exactly when he said that only a bit of cold leadcould settle some insults, and what insult could have been greater thanthe one for which he had shot Willits? What was a gentleman to do? Goaround meeting his antagonist every day?--the two ignoring each other?Or was he to turn stable boy, and pound him with his fists?--or, moreridiculous still, have him bound over to keep the peace, or bring anaction for--Bah!--for what?--Yes--for what? Willits hadn't struck him,or wounded him, or robbed him. It had been his life or Willits's.No--there was no other way--couldn't be any other way. Willits knew itwhen he tore up Kate's card--knew what would follow. There was nodeception--nothing underhand. And he had got precisely what he deserved,sorry as he felt for his sufferings.

Then Kate's face rose before him--haunted him. Why hadn't she seen itthis way? Why had she refused to look at him--refused to answerhim--driven him away from her side, in fact?--he who had risked his lifeto save her from insult! Why wouldn't she allow him to even touch herhand? Why did she treat Willits--drunken vulgarian as hewas--differently from the way she had treated him? She had broken offher engagement with him because he was drunk at Mrs. Cheston's ball,where nobody had been hurt but himself, and here she was sympathizingwith another drunken man who had not only outraged all sense of decencytoward her, but had jeopardized the life of her affianced husband whodefended her against his insults; none of which would have happened hadthe man been sober. All this staggered him.

More astounding still was her indifference. She had not even asked if hehad escaped unhurt, but had concentrated all her interest upon the manwho had insulted her. As to his own father's wrath--that he hadexpected. It was his way to break out, and this he knew would continueuntil he realized the enormity of the insult to Kate and heard how heand St. George had tried to ward off the catastrophe. Then he would notonly change his opinion, but would commend him for his courage.

Outside the sick-room such guests as could be trusted were gatheredtogether in the colonel's den, where they talked in whispers. All agreedthat the ladies and the older men must be sent home as soon as possible,and in complete ignorance of what had occurred. If Willits lived--ofwhich there was little hope--his home would be at the colonel's until hefully recovered, the colonel having declared that neither expense norcare would be spared to hasten his recovery. If he died, the body wouldbe sent to his father's house later on.

With this object in view the dance was adroitly shortened, the supperhurried through, and within an hour after midnight the last carriage andcarryall of those kept in ignorance of the duel had departed, the onlychange in the programme being the non-opening of the rare old bottle ofMadeira and the announcement of Harry's and Kate's engagement--anomission which provoked little comment, as it had been known to but few.

Kate remained. She had tottered upstairs holding on to the hand-rail andhad thrown herself on a bed in the room leading out of thedressing-room, where she lay in her mud-stained dress, the silkenpetticoat torn and bedraggled in her leap from the window. She wasweeping bitterly, her old black mammy sitting beside her trying tocomfort her as best she could.

With the departure of the last guest--Mr. Seymour among them; thecolonel doing the honors; standing bare-headed on the porch, his faceall smiles as he bade them good-by--the head of the house of Rutterturned quickly on his heel, passed down the corridor, made his way alongthe long narrow hall, and entered his office, where the wounded man lay.Harry, the negro woman, and Dr. Teackle alone were with him.

"Is there any change?" he asked in a perfectly even voice. Every vestigeof the set smile of the host had left his face. Harry he did not evennotice.

"Not much--he is still alive," replied the doctor.

"Have you found the ball?"

"No--I have not looked for it--I will presently."

The colonel moved out a chair and sat down beside the dying man, hiseyes fixed on the lifeless face. Some wave of feeling must have sweptthrough him, for after a half-stifled sigh, he said in a low voice, asif to himself:

"This will be a fine story to tell his father, won't it?--and heretoo--under my roof. My God!--was there ever anything more disgraceful!"He paused for a moment, his eyes still on the sufferer, and then wenton--this time to the doctor--"His living so long gives me some hope--amI right, Teackle?"

The doctor nodded, but he made no audible reply. He had bent closer tothe man's chest and was at the moment listening intently to the laboredbreathing, which seemed to have increased.

Harry edged nearer to the patient, his eyes seeking for some move oflife. All his anger had faded. Willits, his face ablaze with drink andrage, his eyes flashing, his strident voice ringing out--even Kate'sshocked, dazed face, no longer filled his mind. It was the sufferingman--trembling on the verge of eternity, shot to death by his ownball--that appealed to him. And then the suddenness of it all--less thanan hour had passed since this tall, robust young fellow stood before himon the stairs, hanging upon every word that fell from Kate's lips--andhere he lay weltering in his own blood.

Suddenly his father's hopeful word to the doctor sounded in his ears.Suppose, after all, Willits SHOULD get well! Then Kate would understandand forgive him! As this thought developed in his mind his spirits rose.He scanned the sufferer the more intently, straining his neck,persuading himself that a slight twitching had crossed the dying man'sface. Almost instantaneously the doctor rose to his feet.

"Quick, Harry!--hand me that brandy! It's just as I hoped--the ball hasploughed outside the skull--the brain is untouched. It was the shockthat stunned him. Leave the room everybody--you too, colonel--he'll cometo in a minute and must not be excited."

Harry sprang from his chair, a great surge of thankfulness rising in hisheart, caught up the decanter, filled a glass and pressed it to thesufferer's lips. The colonel sat silent and unmoved. He had seen toomany wounded men revive and then die to be unduly excited. That Willetsstill breathed was the only feature of his case that gave him any hope.

Harry shot an inquiring glance at his father, and receiving only a coldstare in return, hurried from the room, his steps growing lighter as heran. Kate must hear the good news and with the least possible delay. Hewould not send a message--he would go himself; then he could explain andrelieve her mind. She would listen to his pleading. It was natural sheshould have been shocked. He himself had been moved to sympathy by thesufferer's condition--how much more dreadful, then, must have been thesight of the wounded man lying there among the flower-pots to a womannurtured so carefully and one so sensitive in spirit! But it was allover--Willits would live--there would be a reconciliation--everythingwould be forgiven and everything forgotten.

All these thoughts crowded close in his mind as he rushed up the stairstwo steps at a time to where his sweetheart lay moaning out her heart.He tapped lightly and her old black mammy opened the door on a crack.

"It's Marse Harry, mistis," she called back over her shoulder--"shall Ilet him come in?"

"No!--no!--I don't want to see him; I don't want to see anybody--myheart is broken!" came the reply in half-stifled sobs.

Harry, held at bay, rested his forehead against the edge of the door sohis voice could reach her the better.

"But Willits isn't going to die, Kate dear. I have just left him; it'sonly a scalp wound. Dr. Teackle says he's all right. The shock stunnedhim into unconsciousness."

"Oh, I don't care what Dr. Teackle says! It's you, Harry!--You! Younever once thought of me--Oh, why did you do it?"

"I did think of you, Kate! I never thought of anything else--I am notthinking of anything else now."

"It was for you, Kate! You heard what he said--you saw it all. It wasfor you--for nobody else--for you, my darling! Let me come in--let mehold you close to me and tell you."

"No!--NO--NO! My heart is broken! Come to me, mammy!"

The door shut gently and left him on the outside, dazed at the outcry,his heart throbbing with tenderness and an intense, almost ungovernableimpulse to force his way into the room, take her in his arms, andcomfort her.

The closed door brought him to his senses. To-morrow, after all, wouldbe better, he confessed to himself humbly. Nothing more could be doneto-night. Yes--to-morrow he would tell her all. He turned to descendthe stairs and ran almost into Alec's arms. The old man was tremblingwith excitement and seemed hardly able to control himself. He had comein search of him, and had waited patiently at Kate's door for theoutcome of the interview, every word of which he had overheard.

Harry patted the old servant tenderly on the arm to calm his fears. Hiswords had made but little impression on him. If he had heard them at allhe certainly did not grasp their import. What he was wanted for he couldnot surmise--nor did he much care. Now that Kate had refused to see himhe almost wished that Willits's bullet had found its target.

"Where did you say my father was, Alec?" he asked in a listless voice.

The boy took the old man's hand in his, patted it gently and resumed hiswalk. The least said the better when Alec felt like this. It was Kate'svoice that pierced his ears--Kate's sobs that wrenched his heart: "Younever thought of me!" Nothing else counted.

Harry turned the handle of the door and stepped boldly in, his headerect, his eyes searching the room. It was filled with gentlemen, somesitting, some standing; not only those who had taken part in the duel,but three or four others who were in possession of the secret that layheavy on everybody's mind.

He looked about him: most of the candles had burned low in the socket;some had gone out. The few that still flickered cast a dim, ghostlylight. The remains of the night's revel lay on the larger table and theserving tables:--a half empty silver dish of terrapin, caked over withcold grease; portion of a ham with the bone showing; empty and partlyfilled glasses and china cups from which the toddies and eggnog had beendrunk. The smell of rum and lemons intermingled with the smoke ofsnuffed-out candle wicks greeted his nostrils--a smell he remembered foryears and always with a shudder.

There had evidently been a heated discussion, for his father was walkingup and down the room, his face flushed, his black eyes blazing withsuppressed anger, his plum-colored coat unbuttoned as if to give himmore breathing space, his silk scarf slightly awry. St. George Templemust have been the cause of his wrath, for the latter's voice wasreverberating through the room as Harry stepped in.

"I tell you, Talbot, you shall not--you DARE not!" St. George wasexclaiming, his voice rising in the intensity of his indignation. Hisface was set, his eyes blazing; all his muscles taut. He stood like anavenging knight guarding some pathway. Harry looked on in amazement--hehad never seen his uncle like this before.

The colonel wheeled about suddenly and raised his clenched hand. Heseemed to be nervously unstrung and for a moment to have lost hisself-control.

"Stop, St. George!" he thundered. "Stop instantly! Not another word, doyou hear me? Don't strain a friendship that has lasted from boyhood or Imay forget myself as you have done. No man can tell me what I shall orshall not do when my honor is at stake. Never before has a Rutterdisgraced himself and his blood. I am done with him, I tell you!"

"But the man will get well!" hissed St. George, striding forward andconfronting him. "Teackle has just said so--you heard him; we all heardhim!"

"That makes no difference; that does not relieve my son."

Rutter had now become aware of Harry's presence. So had the others, whoturned their heads in the boy's direction, but no one spoke. They hadnot the lifelong friendship that made St. George immune, and few of themwould have dared to disagree with Talbot Rutter in anything.

"And now, sir"--here the colonel made a step towards where Harry stood,the words falling as drops of water fall on a bared head--"I have sentfor you to tell you just what I have told these gentlemen. I haveinformed them openly because I do not wish either my sense of honor ormy motives to be misunderstood. Your performances to-night have been sodastardly and so ill-bred as to make it impossible for me ever to liveunder the same roof with you again." Harry started and his lips partedas if to speak, but he made no sound. "You have disgraced your blood andviolated every law of hospitality. Mr. Willits should have been as safehere as you would have been under his father's roof. If he misbehavedhimself you could have ordered his carriage and settled the affair nextday, as any gentleman of your standing would have done. I have sent fora conveyance to take you wherever you may wish to go." Then, turning toSt. George, "I must ask you, Temple, to fill my place and see that thesegentlemen get their proper carriages, as I must join Mrs. Rutter, whohas sent for me. Good-night," and he strode from the room.

Harry stared blankly into the faces of the men about him: first at St.George and then at the others--one after another--as if trying to readwhat was passing in their minds. No one spoke or moved. His father'sintentions had evidently been discussed before the boy's arrival and thefinal denunciation had, therefore, been received with less of thedeadening effect than it had produced on himself. Nor was it a surpriseto old Alec, who despite his fears had followed Harry noiselessly intothe room, and who had also overheard the colonel's previous outbreak asto his intended disposition of his young master.

St. George, who during the outburst had stood leaning against themantel, his eyes riveted on Harry, broke the silence.

"That, gentlemen," he exclaimed, straightening to his feet, one handheld high above his head, "is the most idiotic and unjust utterance thatever fell from Talbot Rutter's lips! and one he will regret to his dyingday. This boy you all know--most of you have known him from childhood,and you know him, as I do, to be the embodiment of all that is brave andtruthful. He is just of age--without knowledge of the world, hisengagement to Kate Seymour, as some of you are aware, was to be madeknown to-night. Willits was drunk or he would not have acted as he did.I saw it coming and tried to stop him. That he was drunk was Rutter'sown fault, with his damned notions of drowning everybody in drink everyminute of the day and night. I saw the whole affair and heard theinsult, and it was wholly unprovoked. Harry did just what was right, andif he hadn't I'd either have made Willits apologize or I would have shothim myself the moment the affair could have been arranged, no matterwhere we were. I know perfectly well"--here he swept his eyesaround--"that there is not a man in this room who does not feel as I doabout Rutter's treatment of this boy, and so I shall not comment furtherupon it." He dropped his clenched hand and turned to Harry, his voicestill clear and distinct but with a note of tenderness through it. "Andnow, that pronunciamentos are in order, my boy, here is one which hasless of the Bombastes Furioso in it than the one you have just listenedto--but it's a damned sight more humane and a damned sight morefatherly, and it is this:--hereafter you belong to me--you are my son,my comrade, and, if I ever have a dollar to give to any one, my heir.And now one thing more, and I don't want any one of you gentlemen withinsound of my voice ever to forget it: When hereafter any one of youreckon with Harry you will please remember that you reckon with me."

He turned suddenly. "Excuse me one moment, gentlemen, and I will thensee that you get your several carriages. Alec!--where's Alec?"

The old darky stepped out of the shadow. "I'm yere, sah."

"Alec, go and tell Matthew to bring my gig to the front porch--and besure you see that your young master's heavy driving-coat is put inside.Mr. Harry spends the night with me."

CHAPTER VII

The secrecy enjoined upon everybody conversant with the happenings atMoorlands did not last many hours. At the club, across dinner tables, attea, on the street, and in the libraries of Kennedy Square, each detailwas gone over, each motive discussed. None of the facts wereexaggerated, nor was the gravity of the situation lightly dismissed.Duels were not so common as to blunt the sensibilities. On the contrary,they had begun to be generally deplored and condemned, a fact largelydue to the bitterness resulting from a famous encounter which had takenplace a year or so before between young Mr. Cocheran, the son of a richlandowner, and Mr. May--the circumstances being somewhat similar, themisunderstanding having arisen at a ball in Washington over a reigningbelle, during which Mr. May had thrown his card in Cocheran's face. Inthis instance all the requirements of the code were complied with. Theduel was fought in an open space behind Nelson's Hotel, near theCapitol, Mr. Cocheran arriving at half-past five in the morning in amagnificent coach drawn by four white horses, his antagonist reachingthe grounds in an ordinary conveyance, the seconds and the two surgeonson horseback. Both fired simultaneously, with the result that Mayescaped unhurt, while Cocheran was shot through the head and instantlykilled.

Public opinion, indeed, around Kennedy Square, was, if the truth betold, undergoing many and serious changes. For not only the duel butsome other of the traditional customs dear to the old regime werefalling into disrepute--especially the open sideboards, synonymous withthe lavish hospitality of the best houses. While most of the olderheads, brought up on the finer and rarer wines, knew to a glass thelimit of their endurance, the younger bloods were constantly losingcontrol of themselves, a fact which was causing the greatest anxietyamong the mothers of Kennedy Square.

This growing antipathy had been hastened and solidified by anothertragedy quite as widely discussed as the Cocheran and May duel--more so,in fact, since this particular victim of too many toddies had been theheir of one of the oldest residents about Kennedy Square--a brilliantyoung surgeon, self-exiled because of his habits, who had been thrownfrom his horse on the Indian frontier--an Iowa town, really--shatteringhis leg and making its amputation necessary. There being but one otherman in the rough camp who had ever seen a knife used--and he but astudent--the wounded surgeon had directed the amputation himself, evento the tying of the arteries and the bandages and splints. Only then didhe collapse. The hero--and he was a hero to every one who knew of hiscoolness and pluck, in spite of his recognized weakness--had returnedto his father's house on Kennedy Square on crutches, there to consultsome specialists, the leg still troubling him. As the cripple's bedroomwas at the top of the first flight of stairs, the steps of which--itbeing summer--were covered with China matting, he was obliged to draghimself up its incline whenever he was in want of something he mustfetch himself. One of these necessities was a certain squat bottle likethose which had graced the old sideboards. Half a dozen times a daywould he adjust his crutches, their steel points preventing hisslipping, and mount the stairs to his room, one step at a time.

Some months after, when the matting was taken up, the mother took heryoungest boy--he was then fifteen--to the steps:

"Do you see the dents of your brother's crutches?--count them. Everyone was a nail in his coffin." They were--for the invalid died thatwinter.

These marked changes in public opinion, imperceptible as they had beenat first, were gradually paving the way, it may be said, for the dawn ofthat new order of things which only the wiser and more farsightedmen--men like Richard Horn--were able to discern. While many of the oldregime were willing to admit that the patriarchal life, with the negroas the worker and the master as the spender, had seen its best days, butfew of them, at the period of these chronicles, realized that the geniusof Morse, Hoe, and McCormick, and a dozen others, whose inventions werejust beginning to be criticised, and often condemned, were really thechief factors in the making of a new and greater democracy: that thecog, the drill, the grate-bar, and the flying shuttle would ere longsupplant the hoe and the scythe; and that when the full flood of thisnew era was reached their old-time standards of family pride, recklesshospitality, and even their old-fashioned courtesy would well-nigh beswept into space. The storm raised over this and the preceding duel hadthey but known it, was but a notch in the tide-gauge of this flood.

"I understand, St. George, that you could have stopped that disgracefulaffair the other night if you had raised your hand," Judge Pancoast hadblurted out in an angry tone at the club the week following. "I didraise it, judge," replied St. George, calmly drawing off his gloves.

"They don't say so--they say you stood by and encouraged it."

"Quite true," he answered in his dryest voice. "When I raised my hand itwas to drop my handkerchief. They fired as it fell."

"And a barbarous and altogether foolish piece of business, Temple. Thereis no justification for that sort of thing, and if Rutter wasn't afeudal king up in his own county there would be trouble over it. It'sGod's mercy the poor fellow wasn't killed. Fine beginning, isn't it, fora happy married life?"

"Better not have any wife at all, judge, than wed a woman whose goodname you are afraid to defend with your life. There are some of us whocan stand anything but that, and Harry is built along the same lines. Afine, noble, young fellow--did just right and has my entire confidenceand my love. Think it over, judge," and he strolled into the card-room,picked up the morning paper, and buried his face in its columns, histeeth set, his face aflame with suppressed disgust at the kind of bloodrunning in the judge's veins.

The colonel's treatment of his son also came in for heated discussion.Mrs. Cheston was particularly outspoken. Such quixotic action on theground of safeguarding the rights of a young drunkard like Willits, whodidn't know when he had had enough, might very well do for aself-appointed autocrat like Rutter, she maintained, but some equallyrespectable people would have him know that they disagreed with him.

"Just like Talbot Rutter," she exclaimed in her outspoken, decidedway--" no sense of proportion. High-tempered, obstinate as a mule, anda hundred years--yes, five hundred years behind his time. And he--could have stopped it all too if he had listened to me. Did you everhear anything so stupid as his turning Harry--the sweetest boy who everlived--out of doors, and in a pouring rain, for doing what he would havedone himself! Oh, this is too ridiculous--too farcical. Why, you can'tconceive of the absurdity of it all--nobody can! Gilbert was there andtold me every word of it. You would have thought he was a grand duke ora pasha punishing a slave--and the funniest thing about it is that hebelieves he is a pasha. Oh--I have no patience with such contemptiblefamily pride, and that's what is at the bottom of it."

Some of the back county aristocrats, on the other hand--men who lived bythemselves, who took their cue from Alexander Hamilton, Lee, and Webb,and believed in the code as the only means of arbitrating a difficultyof any kind between gentlemen--stoutly defended the Lord of Moorlands.

"Rutter did perfectly right to chuck the young whelp out of doors.Outrageous, sir--never is done--nothing less than murder. Ought to beprosecuted for challenging a man under his own roof--and at night too.No toss-up for position, no seconds except a parcel of boys. Vulgar,sir--infernally vulgar, sir. I haven't the honor of Colonel Rutter'sacquaintance--but if I had I'd tell him so--served the brat right--damn him!"

Richard Horn was equally emphatic, but in a far different way. Indeed hecould hardly restrain himself when discussing it.

"I can think of nothing my young boy Oliver would or could do when hegrows up," he exclaimed fiercely--his eyes flashing, "which would shuthim out of his home and his dear mother's care. The duel is a relic ofbarbarism and should be no longer tolerated; it is mob law, really, andindefensible, with two persons defying the statutes instead of athousand. But Rutter is the last man in the world to take the stand hehas, and I sincerely regret his action. There are many bitter days aheadof him."

Nor were the present conditions, aspirations, and future welfare of thetwo combatants, and of the lovely girl over whom they had quarrelled,neglected by the gossipers. No day passed without an extended discussionof their affairs. Bearers of fresh news were eagerly welcomed both totoddy and tea tables.

Old Morris Murdoch, who knew Willits's father intimately, being a strongClay man himself, arrived at one of these functions with the astoundinginformation that Willits had called on Miss Seymour, wearing his hat inher presence to conceal his much-beplastered head. That he had then andthere not only made her a most humble apology for his ill-temperedoutbreak, which he explained was due entirely to a combination ofegg-and-brandy, with a dash of apple-toddy thrown in, but had declaredupon his honor as a gentleman that he would never again touch theflowing bowl. Whereupon--(and this excited still greater astonishment)--the delighted young lady had not only expressed her sympathy for hismisfortunes, but had blamed herself for what had occurred!

Tom Tilghman, a famous cross-country rider, who had ridden in post hastefrom his country seat near Moorlands to tell the tale--as could be seenfrom his boots, which were still covered with mud--boldly asserted ofhis own knowledge that the wounded man, instead of seeking his nativeshore, as was generally believed, would betake himself to the RedSulphur Springs (where Kate always spent the summer)--accompanied bythree saddle horses, two servants, some extra bandages, and his devotedsister, there to regain what was left of his health and strength. Atwhich Judge Pancoast had retorted--and with some heat--that Willitsmight take a dozen saddle horses and an equal number of sisters, and abale of bandages if he were so minded, to the Springs, or any otherplace, but he would save time and money if he stayed at home and lookedafter his addled head, as no woman of Miss Seymour's blood and breedingcould possibly marry a man whose family escutcheon needed polishing asbadly as did his manners. That the fact--the plain, bold fact--and herethe judge's voice rose to a high pitch--was that Willits was boilingdrunk until Harry's challenge sobered him, and that Kate hateddrunkenness as much as did Harry's mother and the other women who hadstarted out to revolutionize society.

What that young lady herself thought of it all not even the best-postedgossip in the club dared to venture an opinion. Moreover, such was therespect and reverence in which she was held, and so great was thesympathy felt for her situation, that she was seldom referred to inconnection with Harry or the affair except with a sigh, followed by a"Too bad, isn't it?--enough to break your heart," and such likeexpressions.

What the Honorable Prim thought of it all was apparent the next day atthe club when he sputtered out with:

"Here's a nice mess for a man of my position to find himself in! Do youknow that I am now pointed out as the prospective father-in-law of ayoung jackanapes who goes about with a glass of grog in one hand and apistol in the other. I am not accustomed to having my name bandied aboutand I won't have it--I live a life of great simplicity, minding my ownbusiness, and I want everybody else to mind theirs. The whole affair ismost contemptible and ridiculous and smacks of the tin-armor age.Willits should have been led quietly out of the room and put to bed andyoung Rutter should have been reprimanded publicly by his father.Disgraceful on a night like that when my daughter's name was oneverybody's lips."

After which outburst he had shut himself up in his house, where, so hetold one of his intimates, he intended to remain until he left for theRed Sulphur Springs, which he would do several weeks earlier than washis custom--a piece of news which not only confirmed Tom Tilghman'sgossip, but lifted several eyebrows in astonishment and set one or twoloose tongues to wagging.

Out at Moorlands, the point of view varied as the aftermath of thetragedy developed, the colonel alone pursuing his daily life withoutcomment, although deep down in his heart a very maelstrom was boilingand seething.

Mrs. Rutter, as fate would have it, on hearing that Kate was too ill togo back to town, had gone the next morning to her bedside, where shelearned for the first time not only of the duel--which greatly shockedher, leaving her at first perfectly limp and helpless--but of Harry'sexpulsion from his father's house--(Alec owned the private wire)--apiece of news which at first terrified and then keyed her up as tight asan overstrung violin. Like many another Southern woman, she might shrinkfrom a cut on a child's finger and only regain her mental poise by aliberal application of smelling salts, but once touch that boy ofhers--the child she had nourished and lived for--and all the rage of theshe-wolf fighting for her cub was aroused. What took place behind theclosed doors of her bedroom when she faced the colonel and flamed out,no one but themselves knew. That the colonel was dumfounded--neverhaving seen her in any such state of mind--goes without saying. That hewas proud of her and liked her the better for it, is also true--nothingdelighted him so much as courage;--but nothing of all this, impressiveas it was, either weakened or altered his resolve.

Nor did he change front to his friends and acquaintances: his honorablename, he maintained, had been trailed in the mud; his boastedhospitality betrayed; his house turned into a common shamble. That hisown son was the culprit made the pain and mortification the greater, butit did not lessen his responsibility to his blood. Had not Foscari, tosave his honor, in the days of the great republic, condemned his own sonJacopo to exile and death? Had not Virginius slain his daughter? Shouldhe not protect his own honor as well? Furthermore, was not the youngman's father a gentleman of standing--a prominent man in the State--afriend not only of his own friend, Henry Clay, but of the governor aswell? He, of course, would not have Harry marry into the family hadthere been a marriageable daughter, but that was no reason why Mr.Willits's only son should not be treated with every consideration. He,Talbot Rutter, was alone responsible for the honor of his house. Whenyour right hand offends you cut it off. His right hand HAD offended him,and he HAD cut it off. Away, then, with the spinning of fine phrases!

And so he let the hornets buzz--and they did swarm and buzz and sting.As long as his wrath lasted he was proof against their assaults--in facttheir attacks only confirmed him in his position. It was when all thisceased, for few continued to remonstrate with him after they had heardhis final: "I decline to discuss it with you, madame," or the moresignificant: "How dare you, sir, refer to my private affairs without mypermission?"--it was, I say, when all this ceased, and when neither hiswife, who after her first savage outbreak had purposely held her peace,nor any of the servants--not even old Alec, who went about withstreaming eyes and a great lump in his throat--dared renew theirentreaties for Marse Harry's return, that he began to reflect on hiscourse.

Soon the great silences overawed him--periods of loneliness when he satconfronting his soul, his conscience on the bench as judge; hisaffections a special attorney:--silences of the night, in which he wouldlisten for the strong, quick, manly footstep and the closing of the doorin the corridor beyond:--silences of the dawn, when no clatter of hoofsfollowed by a cheery call rang out for some one to takeSpitfire:--silences of the breakfast table, when he drank his coffeealone, Alec tip-toeing about like a lost spirit. Sometimes his heartwould triumph and he begin to think out ways and means by which the pastcould be effaced. Then again the flag of his pride would be raised aloftso that he and all the people could see, and the old hard look wouldonce more settle in his face, the lips straighten and the thin fingerstighten. No--NO! No assassins for him--no vulgar brawlers--and it was atbest a vulgar brawl--and this too within the confines of Moorlands,where, for five generations, only gentlemen had been bred!

And yet, product as he was of a regime that worshipped no ideals but itsown; hide-bound by the traditions of his ancestry; holding in secretdisdain men and women who could not boast of equal wealth and lineage;dictatorial, uncontradictable; stickler for obsolete forms andceremonies--there still lay deep under the crust of his pride the heartof a father, and, by his standards, the soul of a gentleman.

What this renegade son of his thought of it all; this disturber of hisfather's sleeping and waking hours, was far easier to discover. Dazed asHarry had been at the parental verdict and heart-broken as he still wasover the dire results, he could not, though he tried, see what else hecould have done. His father, he argued to himself, had shot and killed aman when he was but little older than himself, and for an offence muchless grave than Willits's insult to Kate: he had frequently boasted ofit, showing him the big brass button that had deflected the bullet andsaved his life. So had his Uncle George, five years before--not a deadman that time, but a lame one--who was still limping around the club andvery good friends the two, so far as he knew. Why then blame HIM? As forthe law of hospitality being violated, that was but one of theidiosyncrasies of his father, who was daft on hospitality. How couldWillits be his guest when he was his enemy? St. George had begged thewounded man to apologize; if he had done so he would have extended hishand and taken him to Kate, who, upon a second apology, would haveextended her hand, and the incident would have been closed. It wasWillits's stubbornness and bad breeding, then, that had caused thecatastrophe--not his own bullet.

Besides no real harm had been done--that is, nothing very serious.Willits had gained strength rapidly--so much so that he had sat up thethird day. Moreover, he had the next morning been carried to one of thedownstairs bedrooms, where, he understood, Kate had sent her black mammyfor news of him, and where, later on, he had been visited by both Mrs.Rutter and Kate--a most extraordinary condescension on the young girl'spart, and one for which Willits should be profoundly grateful all thedays of his life.

Nor had Willits's people made any complaint; nor, so far as he couldascertain, had any one connected with either the town or countygovernment started an investigation. It was outside the precincts ofKennedy Square, and, therefore, the town prosecuting attorney (who hadheard every detail at the Chesapeake from St. George) had not beencalled upon to act, and it was well known that no minion of the law inand about Moorlands would ever dare face the Lord of the Manor in anyofficial capacity.

Why, then, had he been so severely punished?

CHAPTER VIII

While all this talk filled the air it is worthy of comment that afterhis denunciation of Pancoast's views at the club, St. George never againdiscussed the duel and its outcome. His mind was filled with moreimportant things:--one in particular--a burning desire to bring thelovers together, no matter at what cost nor how great the barriers. Hehad not, despite his silence, altered a hair-line of the opinion he hadheld on the night he ordered the gig, fastened Harry's heavy coat aroundthe young man's shoulders, and started back with him through the rain tohis house on Kennedy Square; nor did he intend to. This, summed up,meant that the colonel was a tyrant, Willits a vulgarian, and Harry ahot-headed young knight, who, having been forced into a position wherehe could neither breathe nor move, had gallantly fought his way out.

The one problem that gave him serious trouble was the selection of theprecise moment when he should make a strategic move on Kate's heart;lesser problems were his manner of approaching her and the excuses hewould offer for Harry's behavior. These not only kept him awake atnight, but pursued him like an avenging spirit when he sought the quietpaths of the old square, the dogs at his heels. The greatest of allbarriers, he felt assured, would be Kate herself. He had seen enough ofher in that last interview, when his tender pleading had restored theharmonies between herself and Harry, to know that she was no longer thechild whose sweetness he loved, or the girl whose beauty he was proudof--but the woman whose judgment he must satisfy. Nor could he see thatany immediate change in her mental attitude was likely to occur. Sometime had now passed since Harry's arrival at his house, and every daythe boy had begged for admission at Kate's door, only to be denied byBen, the old butler. His mother, who had visited her exiled son almostdaily, had then called on her, bearing two important pieces of news--onebeing that after hours of pleading Harry had consented to return toMoorlands and beg his father's pardon, provided that irate gentlemanshould send for him, and the other the recounting of a message ofcondolence and sympathy which Willits had sent Harry from his sick-bed,in which he admitted that he had been greatly to blame. (An admissionwhich fairly bubbled out of him when he learned that Harry had assistedTeackle in dressing his wound.)

And yet with all this pressure the young girl had held her own. To everyone outside the Rutter clan she had insisted that she was sorry forHarry, but that she could never marry a man whose temper she could nottrust. She never put this into words in answering the well-meantinquiries of such girl friends as Nellie Murdoch, Sue Dorsey, and theothers; then her eyes would only fill with tears as she begged them notto question her further. Nor had she said as much to her father, who onone occasion had asked her the plump question--"Do you still intend tomarry that hot-head?"--to which she had returned the equally positiveanswer--"No, I never shall!" She reserved her full meaning for St.George when he should again entreat her--as she knew he would at thefirst opportunity--to forget the past and begin the old life once more.

At the end of the second week St. George had made up his mind as to hiscourse; and at the end of the third the old diplomat, who had dareddefeat before, boldly mounted the Seymour steps. He would appeal toHarry's love for her, and all would be well. He had done so before,picturing the misery the boy was suffering, and he would try it again.If he could only reach her heart through the armor of her reserve shewould yield.

She answered his cheery call up the stairway in person, greeting himsilently, but with arms extended, leading him to a seat beside her,where she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

"Harry has tried to see you every day, Kate," he began, patting hershoulders lovingly in the effort to calm her. "I found him under yourwindow the other night; he walks the streets by the hour, then he comeshome exhausted, throws himself on his bed, and lies awake tilldaylight."

The girl raised her head and looked at him for a moment. She knew whathe had come for--she knew, too, how sorry he felt for her--forHarry--for everybody who had suffered because of this horror.

"Uncle George," she answered, choking back her tears, speaking slowly,weighing each word--"you've known me from a little girl--ever since mydear mother died. You have been a big brother to me many, many times andI love you for it. If I were determined to do anything that would hurtme, and you found it out in time, you would come and tell me so,wouldn't you?"

St. George nodded his head in answer, but he did not interrupt. Herheart was being slowly unrolled before him, and he would wait until itwas all bare.

"Now," she continued, "the case is reversed, and you want me to dosomething which I know will hurt me."

"But you love him, Kate?"

"Yes--that is the worst part of it all," she answered with a stifledsob--"yes, I love him." She lifted herself higher on the cushions andput her beautiful arms above her head, her eyes looking into space as ifshe was trying to solve the problem of what her present resolve wouldmean to both herself and Harry.

St. George began again: "And you remember how--"

She turned impatiently and dropped one hand until it rested on his own.He thought he had never seen her look so lovely and never so unhappy.Then she said in pleading tones--her eyes blinded by half-restrainedtears:

"Don't ask me to REMEMBER, dear Uncle George--help me to forget! Youcan do no kinder thing for both of us."

"But think of your whole future happiness, Kate--think how important itis to you--to Harry--to everybody--that you should not shut him out ofyour life."

"I have thought! God knows I have thought until sometimes I think Ishall go mad. He first breaks his promise about drinking and I forgivehim; then he yields to a sudden impulse and behaves like a mad-man andyou ask me to forgive him again. He never once thinks of me, nor of myhumiliation!" Her lips were quivering, but her voice rang clear.

"He thinks of nothing else BUT you," he pleaded. "Let your heartwork--don't throw him into the street as his father has done. He lovesyou so."

"_I_--throw HIM in the street! He has thrown ME--mortified me beforeeverybody--behaved like a--No,--I can't--I won't discuss it!"

"May I--"

"No--not another word. I love you too much to let this come between us.Let us talk of something else--anything--ANYTHING."

The whole chart of her heart had been unrolled. Her head and not herheart was dominant. He felt, moreover, that no argument of his would beof any use. Time might work out the solution, but this he could nothasten. Nor, if the truth be told, did he blame her. It was, from thegirl's point of view, most unfortunate, of course, that the twocalamities of Harry's drunkenness and the duel had come so closetogether. Perhaps--and for the first time in his life he weakened beforeher tears--perhaps if he had thrown the case of pistols out of thewindow, sent one man to his father and the other back to Kennedy Square,it might all have been different--but then again, could this have beendone, and if it had been, would not all have to be done over again thenext day? At last he asked hopelessly:

"Have you no message for Harry?"

"None," she answered resolutely.

"And you will not see him?"

"No--we can never heal wounds by keeping them open." This came calmly,and as if she had made up her mind, and in so determined a tone that hesaw it meant an end to the interview.

He rose from his seat and without another word turned toward the door.She gained her feet slowly, as if the very movement caused her pain; puther arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek, followed him to thedoor, waved her hand to him as she watched him pick his way across thesquare, and threw herself on her lounge in an agony of tears.

That night St. George and Harry sat by the smouldering wood fire; theearly spring days were warm and joyous, but the nights were still cool.The boy sat hunched up in his chair, his face drawn into lines from theanxiety of the past week; his mind absorbed in the story that St. Georgehad brought from the Seymour house. As in all ardent temperaments, thesedifferences with Kate, which had started as a spark, had now developedinto a conflagration which was burning out his heart. His love for Katewas not a part of his life--it was ALL of his life. He was ready now forany sacrifice, no matter how humiliating. He would go down on his kneesto his father if she wished it. He would beg Willits's pardon--he wouldabase himself in any way St. George should suggest. He had done what hethought was right, and he would do it over again under likecircumstances, but he would grovel at Kate's feet and kiss the groundshe stepped on if she required it of him.

St. George, who had sat quiet, examining closely the backs of his finelymodelled hands as if to find some solution of the difficulty written intheir delicate articulated curves, heard his outburst in silence. Nowand then he would call to Todd, who was never out of reach of hisvoice--no matter what the hour--to replenish the fire or snuff thecandles, but he answered only in nods and monosyllables to Harry. Onesuggestion only of the heart-broken lover seemed to promise any result,and that was his making it up with his father as his mother hadsuggested. This wall being broken down, and Willits no longer aninvalid, perhaps Kate would see matters in a different and morefavorable light.

"But suppose father doesn't send for me, Uncle George, what will I dothen?"

"Well, he is your father, Harry."

"And you think then I had better go home and have it out with him?"

St. George hesitated. He himself would have seen Rutter in Hades beforehe would have apologized to him. In fact his anger choked him so everytime he thought of the brutal and disgraceful scene he had witnessedwhen the boy had been ordered from his home, that he could hardly gethis breath. But then Kate was not his sweetheart, much as he loved her.

"I don't know, Harry. I am not his son," he answered in an undecidedway. Then something the boy's mother had said rose in his mind: "Didn'tyour mother say that your father's loneliness without you was having itseffect?--and wasn't her advice to wait until he should send for you?"

"Yes--that was about it."

"Well, your mother would know best. Put that question to her next timeshe comes in--I'm not competent to answer it. And now let us go tobed--you are tired out, and so am I."

CHAPTER IX

Mysterious things are happening in Kennedy Square. Only the very wisestmen know what it is all about--black Moses for one, who tramps thebrick walks and makes short cuts through the dirt paths, carrying histin buckets and shouting: "Po' ole Moses--po' ole fellah! O-Y-S-T-E-R-S!O-Y-STERS!" And Bobbins, the gardener, who raked up last year's autumnleaves and either burned them in piles or spread them on the flower-bedsas winter blankets. And, of course, Mockburn, the night watchman:nothing ever happens in and around Kennedy Square that Mockburn doesn'tknow of. Many a time has he helped various unsteady gentlemen up thesteps of their houses and stowed them carefully and noiselessly awayinside, only to begin his rounds again, stopping at every corner todrone out his "All's we-l-l!" a welcome cry, no doubt, to the stowaways,but a totally unnecessary piece of information to the inhabitants,nothing worse than a tippler's tumble having happened in the forty yearsof the old watchman's service.

I, of course, am in the secret of the mysterious happenings and havebeen for more years than I care to admit, but then I go ten better thanMockburn. And so would you be in the secret had you watched the processas closely as I have done.

It is always the same!

First the crocuses peep out--dozens of crocuses. Then a spread of tulipsmakes a crazy-quilt of a flowerbed; next the baby buds, their delicategreen toes tickled by the south wind, break into laughter. Then thestately magnolias step free of their pods, their satin leaves fallingfrom their alabaster shoulders--grandes dames these magnolias! And thenthere is no stopping it: everything is let loose; blossoms of peach,cherry, and pear; flowers of syringa--bloom of jasmine, honeysuckle, andVirginia creeper; bridal wreath in flowers of white and wistaria infestoons of purple.

Then come the roses--millions of roses; on single stalks; in clusters,in mobs; rushing over summer-houses, scaling fences, swarming uptrellises--a riotous, unruly, irresistible, and altogether lovable lotthese roses when they break loose!

And the birds! What a time they are having--thrush, bobolinks,blackbirds, nightingales, woodpeckers, little pee-wees, all fluttering,skimming, chirping; bursting their tiny throats for the very joy ofliving. And they are all welcome--and it wouldn't make any difference tothem if they hadn't been; they would have risked it anyway, so temptingare the shady paths and tangled arbors and wide-spreading elms andbutternuts of Kennedy Square.

Soon the skies get over weeping for the lost winter and dry their eyes,and the big, warm, happy sun sails over the tree-tops or drops to sleep,tired out, behind the old Seymour house, and the girls come out in theirwhite dresses and silk sashes and the gallants in their nankeens andpumps and the old life of out-of-doors begins once more.

And these are not the only changes that the coming of spring haswrought. What has been going on deep down in the tender, expectanthearts of root and bulb, eager for expression, had been at work inHarry's own temperament. The sunshine of St. George's companionship hasalready had its effect; the boy is thawing out; his shrinking shyness,born of his recent trouble, is disappearing like a morning frost. He isagain seen at the club, going first under St. George's lee and then onhis own personal footing.

The Chesapeake, so St. George had urged upon him, was the centre ofnews--the headquarters, really, of the town, where not only the currenthappenings and gossip of Kennedy Square were discussed, but that of thecountry at large. While the bald-heads, of course, would be canvassingthe news from Mexico, which was just beginning to have an ugly look, orhaving it out, hammer and tongs, over the defeat of Henry Clay, to whichsome rabid politicians had never become reconciled, the youngergentry--men of Harry's own tastes--would be deploring the poor showingthe ducks were making, owing to the up-river freshets which had spoiledthe wild celery; or recounting the doings at Mrs. Cheston's last ball;or the terrapin supper at Mr. Kennedy's, the famous writer; or perhapsbemoaning the calamity which had befallen some fellow member who hadjust found seven bottles out of ten of his most precious port corked andworthless. But whatever the topics, or whoever took sides in theirdiscussion, none of it, so St. George argued, could fail to interest ayoung fellow just entering upon the wider life of a man of the world,and one, of all others, who needed constant companionship. Then again,by showing himself frequently within its walls, Harry would becomebetter known and better liked.

That he was ineligible for membership, being years too young, and thathis continued presence, even as a guest, was against the rules, did notcount in his case, or if it did count, no member, in view of what thelad had suffered, was willing to raise the question. Indeed, St. George,in first introducing him, had referred to "my friend, Mr. Rutter," as an"out of town guest," laughing as he did so, everybody laughing inreturn, and so it had gone at that.

At first Harry had dreaded meeting his father's and his uncle's friends,most of whom, he fancied, might be disposed to judge him too harshly.But St. George had shut his ears to every objection, insisting that theclub was a place where a man could be as independent as he pleased, andthat as his guest he would be entitled to every consideration.

The boy need not have been worried. Almost every member, young and old,showed by his manner or some little act of attention that theirsympathies were with the exile. While a few strait-laced old Quakersmaintained that it was criminal to blaze away at your fellow-man withthe firm intention of blowing the top of his head off, and that Harryshould have been hung had Willits died, there were others morediscerning--and they were largely in the majority--who stood up for thelad however much they deplored the cause of his banishment. Harry, theyargued, had in his brief career been an unbroken colt, and more or lessdissipated, but he at least had not shown the white feather. Boy as hewas, he had faced his antagonist with the coolness of a duellist of ascore of encounters, letting Willits fire straight at him without somuch as the wink of an eyelid; and, when it was all over, had been manenough to nurse his victim back to consciousness. Moreover--and thiscounted much in his favor--he had refused to quarrel with his iratefather, or even answer him. "Behaved himself like a thoroughbred, as heis," Dorsey Sullivan, a famous duellist, had remarked in recounting theoccurrence to a non-witness. "And I must say, sir, that Talbot servedhim a scurvy trick, and I don't care who hears me say it." Furthermore--and this made a great impression--that rather than humiliate himself,the boy had abandoned the comforts of his palatial home at Moorlands andwas at the moment occupying a small, second-story back room (all, it istrue, Gentleman George could give him), where he was to be found anyhour of the day or night that his uncle needed him in attendance uponthat prince of good fellows.

One other thing that counted in his favor, and this was conclusive withthe Quakers--and the club held not a few--was that no drop of liquor ofany kind had passed the boy's lips since the eventful night when St.George prepared the way for their first reconciliation.

Summed up, then, whatever Harry had been in the past, the verdict at thepresent speaking was that he was a brave, tender-hearted, truthfulfellow who, in the face of every temptation, had kept his word.Moreover, it was never forgotten that he was Colonel Talbot Rutter'sonly son and heir, so that no matter what the boy did, or how angry theold autocrat might be, it could only be a question of time before hisfather must send for him and everything at Moorlands go on as before.

It was on one of these glorious never-to-be-forgotten spring days, then,a week or more after St. George had given up the fight with Kate--a daywhich Harry remembered all the rest of his life--that he and his uncleleft the house to spend the afternoon, as was now their custom, at theChesapeake. The two had passed the early hours of the day at the RelayHouse fishing for gudgeons, the dogs scampering the hills, and havingchanged their clothes for something cooler, had entered the park by thegate opposite the Temple Mansion, as being nearest to the club; a pathHarry loved, for he and Kate had often stepped it together--and thenagain, it was the shortest cut to her house.

As the beauty and quiet of the place with its mottling of light andshade took possession of him he slackened his pace, lagging a littlebehind his uncle, and began to look about him, drinking in theloveliness of the season. The very air breathed tenderness, peace, andcomfort. Certainly his father's heart must be softening toward him;surely his bitterness could not last. No word, it is true, had yet cometo him from Moorlands, though only the week before his mother had beenin to see him, bringing him news of his father and what her son'sabsence had meant to every one, old Alec especially. She had not, shesaid, revived the subject of the boy's apology; she had thought itbetter to wait for the proper opportunity, which might come any day, butcertain it was that his father was most unhappy, for he would shuthimself up hours at a time in his library, locking the door and refusingto open it, no matter who knocked, except to old John Gorsuch, his manof business. She had also heard him tossing on his bed at night, orwalking about his room muttering to himself.

Did these things, he wondered on this bright spring morning, mean afinal reconciliation, or was he, after all, to be doomed to furtherdisappointment? Days had passed since his mother had assured him of thischange in his father, and still no word had come from him. Had he atlast altered his mind, or, worse still, had his old obstinacy againtaken possession of him, hardening his heart so that he would neverrelent? And so, with his mind as checkered as the shadow-flecked pathon which they stepped, he pursued his way beneath the wide-spreadingtrees.

When the two had crossed the street St. George's eye rested upon a groupon the sidewalk of the club. The summer weather generally emptied thecoffee-room of most of its habitues, sending many of them to theeasy-chairs on the sprinkled pavement, one or two tipped back againstthe trees, or to the balconies and front steps. With his arm in Harry'she passed from one coterie to another in the hope that he might catchsome word which would be interesting enough to induce him to fill one ofthe chairs, even for a brief half-hour, but nothing reached his earsexcept politics and crops, and he cared for neither. Harding--thepessimist of the club--a man who always had a grievance (and this timewith reason, for the money stringency was becoming more acute everyday), tried to beguile him into a seat beside him, but he shook hishead. He knew all about Harding, and wanted none of his kind oftalk--certainly not to-day.

"Think of it!" he had heard the growler say to Judge Pancoast as he wasabout to pass his chair--"the Patapsco won't give me a cent to move mycrops, and I hear all the others are in the same fix. You can't get adollar on a house and lot except at a frightful rate of interest. I tellyou everything is going to ruin. How the devil do you get on withoutmoney, Temple?" He was spread out in his seat, his legs apart, his fatface turned up, his small fox eyes fixed on St. George.

"I don't get on," remarked St. George with a dry smile. He was stillstanding. "Why do you ask?" Money rarely troubled St. George; such smallsums as he possessed were hived in this same Patapsco Bank, but thecashier had never refused to honor one of his checks as long as he hadany money in their vaults, and he didn't think they would begin now."Queer question for you to ask, Harding" (and a trifle underbred, hethought, one's private affairs not being generally discussed at a club)."Why does it interest you?"

"Well, you always say you despise money and yet you seem happy andcontented, well dressed, well groomed"--here he wheeled St. Georgearound to look at his back--"yes, got on one of your London coats--Hello, Harry!--glad to see you," and he held out his hand to the boy."But really, St. George, aren't you a little worried over the financialoutlook? John Gorsuch says we are going to have trouble, and Johnknows."

"No"--drawled St. George--"I'm not worried."

"And you don't think we're going to have another smash-up?" puffedHarding.

"No," said St. George, edging his way toward the steps of the club as hespoke. He was now entirely through with Harding; his financialforebodings were as distasteful to him as his comments on his clothesand bank account.

"But you'll have a julep, won't you? I've just sent John for them. Don'tgo--sit down. Here, John, take Mr. Temple's order for--"

"No, Harding, thank you." The crushed ice in the glass was no cooler norcrisper than St. George's tone. "Harry and I have been broiling in thesun all the morning and we are going to go where it is cool."

"But it's cool here," Harding called after him, struggling to his feetin the effort to detain him. There was really no one in the club heliked better than St. George.

"No--we'll try it inside," and with a courteous wave of his hand and afeeling of relief in his heart, he and Harry kept on their way.

He turned to mount the steps when the sudden pushing back of all thechairs on the sidewalk attracted his attention. Two ladies were pickingtheir way across the street in the direction of the club. These, oncloser inspection, proved to be Miss Lavinia Clendenning and her niece,Sue Dorsey, who had been descried in the offing a few minutes before bythe gallants on the curbstone, and who at first had been supposed to beheading for Mrs. Pancoast's front steps some distance away, until thepair, turning sharply, had borne down upon the outside chairs with allsails set--(Miss Clendenning's skirts were of the widest)--a shift ofcanvas which sent every man to his feet with a spring.

Before St. George could reach the group, which he did in advance ofHarry, who held back--both ladies being intimate friends of Kate's--oldCaptain Warfield, the first man to gain his feet--very round and fat wasthe captain and very red in the face (1812 Port)--was saying with hismost courteous bow:

"But, my dear Miss Lavinia, you have not as yet told us to what we areindebted for this mark of your graciousness; and Sue, my dear, you growmore like your dear mother every day. Why are you two angels abroad atthis hour, and what can we do for you?"

"To the simple fact, my dear captain," retorted the irresistiblespinster, spreading her skirts the wider, both arms akimbo--her thinfingers acting as clothespins, "that Sue is to take her dancing lessonnext door, and as I can't fly in the second-story window, having mislaidmy wings, I must use my feet and disturb everybody. No, gentlemen--don'tmove--I can pass."

The captain made so profound a salaam in reply that his hat grazed thebricks of the sidewalk.

"Let me hunt for them, Miss Lavinia. I know where they are!" heexclaimed, with his hand on his heart.

"Where?" she asked roguishly, twisting her head on one side with themovement of a listening bird.

"In heaven, my lady, where they are waiting your arrival," he answered,with another profound sweep of his hand and dip of his back, his baldhead glistening in the sunlight as he stooped before her.

"Then you will never get near them," she returned with an equally lowcurtsy and a laugh that nearly shook her side curls loose.

St. George was about to step the closer to take a hand in thebadinage--he and the little old maid were forever crossing swords--whenher eyes fell upon him. Instantly her expression changed. She was one ofthe women who had blamed him for not stopping the duel, and had been onthe lookout for him for days to air her views in person.

"So you are still in town, are you?" she remarked frigidly in loweredtones. "I thought you had taken that young firebrand down to the EasternShore to cool off."

St. George frowned meaningly in the effort to apprise her ladyship thatHarry was within hearing distance, but Miss Lavinia either did not, orwould not, understand.

"Two young boobies, that's what they are, breaking their hearts overeach other," she rattled on, gathering the ends of her cape the closer."Both of them ought to be spanked and put to bed. Get them into eachother's arms just as quick as you can. As for Talbot Rutter, he's thebiggest fool of the three, or was until Annie Rutter got hold of him.Now I hear he is willing to let Harry come back, as if that would do anygood. It's Kate who must be looked after; that Scotch blood in her veinsmakes her as pig-headed as her father. No--I don't want your arm,sir--get out of my way."

If the courtiers heard--and half of them did--they neither by word orexpression conveyed that fact to Harry or St. George. It was notintended for their ears, and, therefore, was not their property. Withstill more profound salutations from everybody, the three bareheaded menescorted them to the next stoop, the fourth going ahead to see that thedoor was properly opened, and so the ladies passed on, up and inside thehouse. This over, the group resumed its normal condition on thesidewalk, the men regaining their seats and relighting their cigars (nogentleman ever held one in evidence when ladies were present)--freshorders being given to the servants for the several interrupted mixtureswith which the coterie were wont to regale themselves.

Harry, who had stood with shoulders braced against a great tree on thesidewalk, had heard every word of the old maid's outburst, and anunrestrained burst of joy had surged up in his heart. His father wascoming round! Yes--the tide was turning--it would not be long beforeKate would be in his arms!

CHAPTER X

St. George held no such sanguine view, although he made no comment. Infact the outbreak had rather depressed him. He knew something ofTalbot's stubbornness and did not hope for much in that direction, nor,if the truth be told, did he hope much in Kate's. Time alone could healher wounds, and time in the case of a young girl, mistress of herself,beautiful, independent, and rich, might contain many surprises.

It was with a certain sense of relief, therefore, that he again soughtthe inside of the club. Its restful quiet would at least take his mindfrom the one subject which seemed to pursue him and which MissClendenning's positive and, as he thought, inconsiderate remarks had sosuddenly revived.

Before he had reached the top step his face broke out into a broadsmile. Instantly his spirits rose. Standing in the open front door, withoutstretched hand, was the man of all others he would rather haveseen--Richard Horn, the inventor.

"Ah, St. George, but I'm glad to see you!", cried Richard. "I have beenlooking for you all the afternoon and only just a moment ago got sightof you on the sidewalk. I should certainly have stepped over to yourhouse and looked you up if you hadn't come. I've got the mostextraordinary thing to read to you that you have ever listened to in thewhole course of your life. How well you look, and what a fine color youhave, and you too, Harry. You are in luck, my boy. I'd like to stay amonth with Temple myself."

"Make it a year, Richard," cried St. George, resting his handaffectionately on the inventor's shoulder. "There isn't a chair in myhouse that isn't happier when you sit in it. What have you discovered?--some new whirligig?"

"One of your own?" laughed St. George--one of his merry vibrating laughsthat made everybody happier about him. The sight of Richard had sweptall the cobwebs out of his brain.

"No, you trifler!--one of Edgar Allan Poe's. None of your scoffing, sir!You may go home in tears before I am through with you. This way, both ofyou."

The three had entered the coffee-room now, Richard's arm through St.George's, Harry following close. The inventor drew out the chairs oneafter another, and when they were all three seated took a missive fromhis pocket and spread it out on his knee, St. George and Harry keepingtheir eyes on his every movement.

"Here's a letter, St. George"--Richard's voice now fell to a seriouskey--"which I have just received from your friend and mine, Mr. N. P.Willis. In it he sends me this most wonderful poem cut from his paper--the Mirror--and published, I discover to my astonishment, some monthsback. I am going to read it to you if you will permit me. It certainlyis a most remarkable production. The wonder to me is that I haven't seenit before. It is by that Mr. Poe you met at my house some years ago--youremember him?--a rather sad-looking man with big head and deep eyes?"Temple nodded in answer, and Harry's eyes glistened: Poe was one of hisuniversity's gods. "Just let me read to you what Willis says"--here heglanced down the letter sheet: "'Nothing, I assure you, my dear Horn,has made so great a stir in literary circles as this "Raven" of Poe's. Iam sending it to you knowing that you are interested in the man. If I donot mistake I first met Poe one night at your house.' And a veryextraordinary night it was, St. George," said Richard, lifting his eyesfrom the sheet. "Poe, if you remember, read one of his stories for us,and both Latrobe and Kennedy were so charmed that they talked of nothingelse for days."

St. George remembered so clearly that he could still recall the tones ofPoe's voice, and the peculiar lambent light that flashed from out thepoet's dark eyes--the light of a black opal. He settled himself back inhis chair to enjoy the treat the better. This was the kind of talk hewanted to-day, and Richard Horn, of all others, was the man to conductit.

The inventor's earnestness and the absorbed look on St. George's andHarry's faces, and the fact that Horn was about to read aloud, hadattracted the attention of several near-by members, who were alreadystraining their ears, for no one had Richard's gift for reading.

In low, clear tones, his voice rising in intensity as the weird pathosof the several stanzas gripped his heart, he unfolded the marvellousdrama until the very room seemed filled with the spirit of both the manand the demon. Every stanza in his clear enunciation seemed a separatestring of sombre pearls, each syllable aglow with its own inherentbeauty. When he ceased it was as if the soul of some great 'cello hadstopped vibrating, leaving only the memory of its melody. For a fewseconds no one moved nor spoke. No one had ever heard Richard in finervoice nor had they ever listened to more perfect rhythmic beauty. Sogreat was the effect on the audience that one old habitue, in speakingof it afterward, insisted that Richard must have seen the bird roostingover the door, so realistic was his rendering.

Harry had listened with bated breath, absorbing every tone andinflection of Richard's voice. He and Poe had been members of the sameuniversity, and the poet had always been one of his idols--the man ofall others he wanted most to know. Poe's former room opening into thecorridor had invariably attracted him. He had frequently looked aboutits bare walls wondering how so great an inspiration could have startedfrom such meagre surroundings. He had, too, with the romanticimagination of a boy, pictured to himself the kind of man he was, hislooks, voice, and manner, and though he had never seen the poet in theflesh, somehow the tones of Richard's voice recalled to him the verypicture he had conjured up in his mind in his boyhood days.

St. George had also listened intently, but the impression was quitedifferent from the one made on the younger man. Temple thought only ofPoe's despondency, of his striving for a better and happier life; of hispoverty--more than once had he gone down into his own pockets to relievethe poor fellow's urgent necessities, and he was still ready to do itagain--a readiness in which he was almost alone, for many of thewriter's earlier friends had of late avoided meeting him whenever hepassed through Kennedy Square. Even Kennedy, his life-long friend, hadbegun to look upon him as a hopeless case.

This antipathy was also to be found in the club. Even with the memory ofRichard's voice in their ears one of the listeners had shrugged hisshoulders, remarking with a bitter laugh that musical as was the poem,especially as rendered by Richard, it was, after all, like most of Poe'sother manuscripts, found in a bottle, or more likely "a bottle found ina manuscript," as that crazy lunatic couldn't write anything worthreading unless he was half drunk. At which St. George had blazed out:

"Hush, Bowdoin! You ought to be willing to be blind drunk half your timeif you could write one stanza of it! Please let me have it, Richard,"and he took the sheet from his friend's hand, that he and Harry mightread it at their leisure when they reached home.

Harry's blood had also boiled at the rude thrust. While under the spellof Richard's voice a cord in his own soul had vibrated as does a glassglobe when it responds in perfect harmony to a note from a violin. Hetoo had a Lenore whose loss had wellnigh broken his heart. This initself was an indissoluble bond between them. Besides, he couldunderstand the poet as Alec and his mother and his Uncle Georgeunderstood himself. He had begun now to love the man in his heart.

With his mind filled with these thoughts, his hunger for Kate arousedtenfold by the pathos and weird beauty of what he had just heard, heleft the group of men who were still discussing the man and his verses,and joined his uncle outside on the top step of the club's high stoop,from which could be seen the full length of the sun-flecked street onwhich the clubhouse stood, as well as the park in all its springloveliness.

Unconsciously his eyes wandered across the path where Kate's housestood. He could see the tall chimneys and the slope of the quaint roof,